Roughly Forty Drabbleish Things About Roy and Ed
by Meredith T. Tasaki
Summary: Remember all those 50 drabbles collections? Well, it's not 50, but here's what I've got. First part Roy&Ed, second RoyEd. 'It's never been a game to him, but you keep playing it anyway.'
1. Feels Like Summer, Feels Like Home

Rating: PG-13/ T (language)

Disclaimer: No rights whatsoever to FMA have I.

Summary: Remember all those "50 drabbles" collections? Well, it's not 50, but here's what I've got. First part Roy&Ed, second Roy/Ed. It's never been a game to him, but you keep playing it anyway.

Notes: You'll probably notice I had themes. ; I wrote these ages ago, but I'm only posting them now; don't really know why, just to have something finished, and because there's some good stuff in here.

_**If you can't stand the Roy/Ed pairing**_: Okay. I respect your opinion. Just don't read the second part. I went to a lot of effort to put anything slashy or even borderline slashy in there. Legally that means if anyone starts bitching, I may shoot them. -wink-

(-)

For some reason, you never expected this, even though you should've. Thought he was better than this, than you. More noble, maybe, more principled, more _salvagable_ than you.

But he's got his demons, too, he's got his goals, God knows you could never forget about his _goals_--

And as he walks away, you know you should've expected this. After all, you taught him everything he knows about duplicity and betrayal.

Well-- obviously not _everything_--

You always knew that pride would be your downfall.

(-)

Someone had brought him coffee. Someone had brought him coffee and breakfast and put a blanket over him. Or, dropped a blanket over his head, seemed more accurate. Couldn't have been anyone but Hawkeye. Except...

But it didn't matter. Heaven only knew how much time his inadvertent nap had cost him, and he still had all that paperwork, and-- God-- Fullmetal of all people was coming in this morning, after a mission that (predictably) went crazy, and he'd taken him to task about the informal nature of his reports the week before, lectured him for about an _hour_, and yesterday, forgetting to explain, forced him to take an overnight train...

And any second now the boy was going to storm in and he'd get his very just deserts.

Except he should've already been here, judging by the clock. Probably he was just delaying, as usual, but--

Was that a _report_ on his desk?

He sat there, bemused, for several minutes, a very odd look dawning upon his face.

Dear God, the boy had taken pity on him...

Touched in a way that only lack of sleep could excuse, he turned gratefully to the coffee.

(-)

"All I wanted-- was to be your friend. Or your comrade, or equal, hell, even subordinate officer-- all I wanted-- was for that respect to be visible, just once. For you-- to tell me something. To trust me with something. And I tried to be-- trustworthy. I tried to be the kind of person you'd be close to. And you never were."

"...Fullmetal, I've trusted you with more than you may ever know."

"Then TELL me so, goddamnit!! Just once, tell me so!"

"Somehow, I never thought I had to. I-- was always so hard on you, wasn't I? I never meant to be. I only... Heh. I've made quite a fine mess out of this, haven't I?"

"Yeah."

"The best-laid plans."

"...Don't worry. I'll get us out of this, no problem."

"Yes. I know."

(-)

He turns that ghostly expression on you and you're entirely bewitched.

"They _won't_ let me leave..." he whispers.

"No."

"I can't let them find out... But I can't stop them..."

"You can. You'll find a way."

"I don't feel capable of anything right now..."

You want to hug him, but he'd hurt you. "Fullmetal, some days I don't think there's anything beyond you."

Dangerous admission-- but that surprised, warm smile is more than worth it.

You should do this more often.

(-)

To forget those days... so many things you'd like to forget. But it isn't possible, it isn't healthy.

Or is it? Why couldn't it be? Why _shouldn't_ you be able to become again who you were? If you couldn't make up for your mistakes, had to pay that penance the rest of your life, could never change back-- then what was the point?

Philosophers and storytellers for years had talked about nonlinear time.

And if you could be that young man again, that cocky, confident young man who'd never had to question his abilities, his place in the world...

Then maybe you could look into his eyes and finally see them.

Just looking for redemption...

(-)

The first lesson he'd learned in this quite literally damned game: never depend on one possibility, one thing, one person too completely. Never have a keystone. Always have an exit plan. An alternative. Otherwise, when that one card is pulled, your whole house of cards implodes.

And evidently he'd forgotten it, because he was standing there stunned, as papers flew around him like those cards tumbling down, as the dust started to settle and the sirens began to wail. Probably it would take far more than a bombing to kill Edward Elric.

But if he was wrong?

Fullmetal was almost certainly alive, but if he ever _wasn't_...

When, he wondered, had he so stupidly come to rely on such a reckless young kid so completely?

Funny how all it takes is a horrific act of terrorism to make you realize that sort of thing.

(-)

"You know, I met someone interesting the other day."

"Is that so?"

"He said, he _knows_ that if his superior officer had a choice between defending his men and getting a promotion, he'd choose his men."

"I can't believe anyone's really that unambitious..."

"I can. But the funny thing is, I can't answer that question about you."

"...Really?"

"And the funnier thing, Edward can. The other way around."

"You asked him?"

"He really believes it."

"Is that so..."

"It's not a game to him. It's never been a game, but you're playing one with him anyway. And it's dangerous. Because the second he isn't distracted, all that brilliance and fury and strange revolutionary skill is going to be turned on _you_. And you don't want that. I don't know why you're so emphatic about making him hate you, but it's working far too well, and it has to stop."

"But... if he doesn't hate me... he might..."

"Why you think he _should_ hate you, I don't know. But it isn't true, and you have to stop it, okay?"

"...I can try..."

(-)

In a few years he'll be looking through Rizembul's records. No particular reason, he'll have said. Just curiosity. You never know if there night not be something we can learn here...

And why he didn't leave it to a subordinate, he'll always manage not to answer.

All of this will become secondary when he finds an unusual death certificate. A man who died mysteriously, in what looked like a heart attack, but seemed unlikely in someone so young.

A visit to the town doctor, incognito, and his charming smile will draw out the information that the doctor hadn't put in the official files. There had been a strange, unnatural-looking growth in the man's body-- one that was unusually _mineral_ for a tumor. Whatever the viny-looking thing was, it had pierced the man's heart, and the cause of death had been the blood that slowly pulsed out into the chest cavity with each heartbeat.

What had interested him was the timing of the man's death. When Edward was still in town. Before their mother's death.

There hadn't been many alchemists around town at that time. And this had been done by alchemy. Either by someone very cruel... or very inexperienced.

Or both.

His subconscious will whisper a suggestion to talk to the other boys in the town who had been Edward's age, to see if they'd known him. A number of them had. They won't talk much about him. Their silence in itself will tell him what he needs to know, but he'll send Hawkeye in to get confirmation just in case. She's ridiculously overqualified, but she's who he trusts.

She'll return with a very dark look in her eyes. She'll tell him he was right, and remain strangely quiet through the conversation. He'll push the issue, and she'll show him a picture she found in the town archives.

Dark-haired, rather stout, with a lopsided smile.

"Everyone mentioned how _charming_ he was. No one noticed how he acted to the boys. He was cruel to them, arrogant-- as a schoolteacher, he said he was their master and they couldn't say or do anything to stop him. He said they were obligated to do whatever he said. He would lie to their parents and even to them to get them where he wanted them. And there wasn't a single adult in town who had a clue. _Do you understand now?_"

And for the first time ever, he truly will.

(-)

Lost again, beaten resoundingly, and he storms out of the office as his brother trails behind.

He's never had any of the cards, not any, and the bastard's been playing them since they met. Since before, maybe. It's a game to him-- a _game_!--and he's a pawn in it, being played and manipulated and he hates it.

Everything he can think of to do, every strategy, every plan, backfires or bounces off that goddamned smirk. Except of course the real weapons he has. The real secrets he knows. He might be able to break the man with that, but you don't pull someone's entrails out for pulling your braid in class. And for him, that's all it is, games and teasing. For Ed, it's personal, and he's tried, but he can't make it anything else. And the man either doesn't understand that or doesn't care.

Still, Ed has a feeling there's some way to turn the tables on the man, some ploy he can use besides those end-of-the-world measures. Something half-obvious, something running over and beneath everything that would not only shut the man up, but _end the goddamn game_.

He doesn't know what it is yet, but he's damned if he won't find out.

Actually, he knows, damned very literally...

(-)

"Why are you here?"

"Shut up and eat."

"I don't want to. You've poisoned it."

"Damn, I wish I'd thought of that. Too late now. Shut up and eat."

"Why are you here?"

"Hawkeye was busy. She foolishly thought I wouldn't kill you when you were sick."

"And you're cooking?"

"No, I use my power to create things out of nothing on chicken soup instead of my brother and me. Shut up-- and eat."

"I never knew you cared."

"Shut up before I change my mind and kill you!!"

"All right."

"Good."

"...--Oh my God, this is edible!!"

"That's it!! I'm killing you instead!!"

(-)

"...What did you just say to me?"

"I said I just don't think you're ready to--"

"Ready? You don't think I'm READY?! You DARE to PATRONIZE me by saying I don't know what I'm doing?! You think I don't know how stupid this is?! I know exactly how stupid this is!! AND GETTING DUMBER BY THE MINUTE!! How DARE you!!"

"I only meant--"

"So I'm old enough to go out and get myself killed but I'm not old enough to have any idea what I'm thinking!! Is that it?! You trust me to go out on your damn missions but you don't trust me to-- dammit! I don't have time for this! And neither do you. We don't have time for all this 'I'm ready, you're ready, are you sure, you're so young, you probably should go' bullshit, okay?! I! Know! What! I'm! Doing! Which is more than I can say for you!! And-- dammit! Go to hell!!"

"Fullmetal--"

"I said go to hell!!"

The door slammed and he was left staring at the wall.

"...What the HELL just happened?!"

(-)

And I really do know he's on my side. I've figured that out now. I think you can't blame me for being sucpicious, because the guy's never sincere about anything ELSE he does, and I have a hell of a lot riding on this game. But he's protected me, and done a lot of good for me, and even his worst crap has some reason in the end.

But I still say there's something wrong with it. I still hate the way he doesn't tell me anything, won't trust me with anything, teases me and mocks me every chance he gets. I know that it's not serious, I get that now. But there's something-- pathological about it, don't you get it? There's something _abnormal_ there. Like he likes to see me angry, or he's pushing me away.

So it's not that different, I'm just wiser at thwarting him now: I don't know exactly why he pulls this crap, so I stay calm and stay close, just to cover all my bases. And I realize now that it's abnormal, that it _can't_ be just me, that normal people just don't act like that to people they don't hate.

I realize there's something wrong here now, and every time he talks about not being able to see me from in front of the couch there, I just let out a deep breath, and I think, Thank God I don't care about him.

And there's just got to be another way...

(-)

His office door was open, just a little, and he could hear every word of the conversation outside.

"What's he like?" asked the messenger, a little timidly.

"He's--" Fullmetal started.

"Perfectly nice," Hawkeye jumped in. "More of a womanizer than we'd like, but honest, clever, and loyal to his men. Even if he _is_ a little too smug."

"Yeah," Fullmetal agreed-- and said something that briefly stilled Roy's pen.

"I can't wait to meet him..."

(-)

He's your most valuable asset and you've been treating him recklessly. You really _don't_ tell him anything. You _are_ patronizing to him. You even insult him!

You pretend it's a game, but it isn't. Never to him. Not even to you, if you ever have the guts to look inside that elusive mind.

You are carefully driving him away.

Do you want him to betray you? Do you want him to be safe from you?

What exactly would you do to him?

What the hell are you so afraid of?

(-)

"I miss him."

Alphonse was startled by the admission.

"Why do I miss him?"

"I don't know."

"I hated him."

"You shouldn't have. He meant well."

"Didn't act like it."

"But he did."

"Yeah, I know."

"That meeting tomorrow at six a.m... when should I wake you up?"

"...Couple hundred years from now sounds nice..."

(-)

I have so many other things to worry about. Surviving here, for one thing, figuring out where home is and how to get back there before all my time and all my chances drain away. I've actually been lucky so far, which I just find totally insane, because if _this_ is _lucky_, if _anything_ I've been through can be called _lucky_, what the hell happens to _unlucky_ people?

Or maybe I'm just looking at it wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.

Anyway-- why I'm even bothering to write this I don't know, I hate admitting it-- during the day, I do worry about those more important things. During most of the night too, really. But then there's that _other_ part of the night, when I dream of home. Of my brother, and all my friends. (Dunno if I was ever really much of a friend to them, but it's the only word I can think of, and "acquaintances" is just as wrong.)

See, but then I find myself thinking of all the people I hate. All the people who manipulated me for their own purposes, whatever the hell _those_ were. And I keep coming back to him. Time and again, trying to think about _anything_ else, I find myself wondering again and again, what was it you wanted from me? What the hell was it you wanted?

Did you find what you were looking for? Or what you were looking for in me?

I shouldn't give it a second thought, and yet I do, but now I have a countermeasure.

'Cause I'm just gonna have to _ask_ the smug bastard, right?

(-)

His ghost wanders around here at night.

It's a figment of your inagination, but sometimes others pretend they've seen it too, trying to make you feel better. As if you need sympathy, or can even accept it. Ask that ghost you claim to see, you want to tell them, he'll tell you you're wasting your time...

But he's abnormally quiet, now, probably because he's finally getting revenge. Haunting you has mellowed him immensely. After all, there were two things that made him high-strung in life: his responsibilities, and you. His responsibilities are gone, and ironically, he _has_ found peace hanging around your office couch and mocking people.

Last place he thought he'd find it.

And this is a ridiculous charade of yours, this "ghost" thing, and you really should give it up; you don't like teetering so near the brink of insanity. But he keeps you honest, keeps you (vaguely) humble, keeps you from drowning yourself in self-recrimination. And frankly you _miss_ him, and this hallucination may be the only thing keeping you sane in this dark struggle for power.

A ridiculous charade, but everyone _does_ believe it; after all, the boy's come back from everywhere else...

(-)

And again you feel like you did when you first dropped back into this world and saw what you somehow knew was your sun up in the desert sky. You were spinning around, you were laughing the way you'd never thought you'd laugh again, and everything was _fine_, better than fine again. It didn't last; sobriety kicked back in, the realization you were in the middle of a desert with half a canteen of water.

But you made it and you're back, and you announced your presence by stomping in and dumping years' worth of reports on his desk-- "Your reports, Fuhrer, sir! And I apologize for the delay."

And shock faded into incredulity faded into an abject joy you'd never expected, and he'd started laughing, and you'd started laughing helplessly too, and here you are.

And this magic'll fade in a minute too, most likely, but still, maybe it won't, maybe it's true. Either way, it's worth it.

He's looking at you with such a warm smile you have to return it.

Feels like summer, feels like home...

(-)


	2. Like Everything You've Ever Wanted

Rating: See part 1

Disclaimer: See part 1

Summary: The slashier bits. "Maybe this isn't the way it's supposed to be. Maybe this, like everything you've ever wanted, is forbidden, entirely taboo."

Notes: Remember, this is where it gets... er... vaguely slashy. 'Cept I'm not good at romance so don't expect anything remotely graphic.

(-)

You're supposed to have planned this, like you plan everything. Are supposed to have carefully courted for months, maybe years. Supposed to have monitored every detail, like you always do; supposed to sweep someone off their feet.

And instead you've been abruptly jumped in an alley by someone who hated you five seconds ago, who you'd thought actively wanted you dead. You've probably encouraged his homicidal urges, but though you'll claim out of principle to have planned this all along, you are honestly and completely surprised.

And that's the only reason you don't think it's wrong.

(-)

He'd told him about seeing Hughes on the train platform, dark and seriously, and he hadn't laughed, but he hadn't believed it, either.

But there he was, on the corner of the platform, blowing him a kiss, eyes ennumerating a dozen ironies-- sad, wry, apologetic.

He thought his heart should stop, but it was pounding violently, so he could hardly hear, could hardly see as he threw himself half out the window, looking back.

"Brother? Is something wrong?"

His throat was dry, and he could hardly speak, and his voice drowned in the wind anyway.

"Everything," he answered, and would say nothing more.

(-)

You're overreacting to everything these days.

You snap about the coffee-- in both senses of the word-- you practically cry over the most minor frustrations, that might have earned a blink, or at worst perhaps a frown, from you in the old days. You're falling apart, you're in complete disarray. You keep getting colds and you don't, you do know why.

You may never know what happened to him. You're still searching, but all you really know is he's never come home.

He would never leave Al like this. You'd like to think he wouldn't leave you either, but at this point it hardly matters.

He's just gone. And, really, so are you.

(-)

Rizembul, home of Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist.

Ed looks at the statue with a mix of irritation, resignation, and disgust.

"Less lasting than bronze," he mutters finally. "But you know it'll be here long after anyone remembers who the hell Edward Elric was."

"Possibly not," you note, wicked amusement in your voice; "the locals will make sure to remember it to lure the tourists, don't you think?"

"God," he sighs. "It just makes you want to be-- just anyone else for a while."

"You could be the blazingly attractive consort of the suave, powerful, and charming Flame Alchemist," you offer.

You expect him to hit you, at the least mock the hell out of you-- inexplicably, he gives you a thoughtful smile.

"That'll do," he says, and leans against your shoulder with a peaceful sigh.

(-)

This, you think, pretending to be asleep, is a phenomenon that is the same across all universes: the sneaking out of the house in the morning. It doesn't really surprise you to learn he's a master at it, quietly gathering up his things, quietly getting ready. It helps, no doubt, that it's his house. And you can't help but marvel at it, a little; you might not even have woken up if you weren't such a light sleeper now, after those days.

The door opens-- a rustle of clothes-- and a hand brushing back your bangs, a light kiss on the temple.

And he's gone, and you're touching your forehead, and an idiot smile is spreading across your face.

Damn, this was even stupider than you thought.

(-)

You come home and he's throwing clothes in a suitcase.

"You son of a bitch," he says. "I should've seen this coming."

"I never promised to--"

"You don't want to be talking right now, you two-timing jackass. I might kill you before Al gets the chance, and that wouldn't be nice of me because I promised."

"But I really never said--"

"Did you miss the part about not talking? Screw off, you old whore, I'm not taking your crap anymore!!" He storms out, dragging his suitcases after.

Later you remember he never kept anything here, and you grin in admiration.

It's really a shame he had to leave.

(-)

"Dog years," he'd said cryptically, and Roy was trying to understand what he'd meant. He'd said it just before he left that last time; just before he'd kissed him for no reason and hurried out.

Roy hadn't told anyone about this, of course, the age difference alone would be enough to damn him...

Dog years... Dogs lived shorter lives than humans; seven years to every human year; a different scale...

He'd meant it was socially acceptable because he was old enough in dog years. Dog-of-the-military years. Time measured and adjusted to a shorter lifespan.

And yes, it was inescapable, causing Roy to clutch his head and stare at his desk in despairing astonishment.

He'd known he was going to die.

Which meant, among other things, that a). the boy'd had powerful hidden depths, and b). he was the biggest fool in the world...

All things he really should've known before...

(-)

"Dismissed."

You walk outside. The desert sky-- they say the stars are far away-- say the stars are eyes of God-- would explain a lot. Dots of light and nothing more.

You walk away, and it's not long before he finds you, pushes you against the wall, dives into your mouth with a terrible hot desperation, and you clutch him close in the exact same way. Because you walk around like you're dead, all the time, and then he's here and everything that hadn't even been there a second before spills out of you like your blood onto the sand.

Love? Lust? Desperation? Solace? Pain? A combination of two or more?

You don't know, and even in his presence, you can't bring yourself to care.

You just throw yourself into the fire like the virgin sacrifice you are.

(-)

A psychaiatrist, of all things, they send in, the secular minister, and as naive as one-- guy's got no idea that nothing that happens in here will ever matter.

"You do care. I know you were involved."

"Inv-- oh. You mean the sex. Yeah, right, guess so."

"But he killed himself. How does that make you _feel_?" Almost desperate.

A thoughtful pause. "Dumbass never did have any imagination."

The psychaiatrist writes his report and strongly recommends that Ed be withdrawn from active duty and put under observation-- suicide, homicide watch.

They ignore him.

He's the only one surprised.

(-)

A creature of steel lurks on the corner of the cot, with the walls against his back, because he likes having something behind him, and he doesn't want his attention distracted by what might be behind him right now.

He's staring at the objects that lie on the neatly made cot. Rank insignia. A pen. A note with four words he'd never imagined Mustang ever saying.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

In ridiculously precise script, from a man falling apart, in a place falling apart.

All of this has to end.

And so he leaves.

(-)

They're too noble to want his help, which doesn't surprise him, really; their beliefs always seem to drown out their common sense. But it hardly matters. He's not fighting with them. He's just fighting against the State. That's a much bigger difference than one might think.

He's come to realize that the Ishvalans are probably right, and alchemy is intrinsically evil, a perversion of God's work. Because certainly they're right about those who practice it.

He has no trouble believing that he himself is evil, too.

And here they are, readying themselves for one-sided battle against dangerous insurgent old men, women, and children. And if they hadn't deserved this, they'd have left a long time ago.

He claps his hands. Mustang always was a moron.

This is the only way to go out.

(-)

She has always guarded his secrets; it's nothing new to her at all. To any of them. This strange fierce loyalty they've all fallen under, this inscrutable spell...

Quite often none of them are sure it _isn't_ alchemy, that alchemy's different from sorcery, or he isn't a master of both. He'll always protest it's science, they all will, but isn't there a level of science where there's no difference?

At the least, the pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone is the pursuit of magic.

But she knows it's nothing unusual. We all pursue magic, just usually in more mundane ways.

And that morning, when she sees he's asleep on his couch sitting up, with a mussed Edward Elric clinging him close, she closes the door and sits in front of it with her tea and gun.

Maybe it's unwise, but it probably isn't even what it looks like, and if it is--

They both need that more mundane magic right now.

(-)

Your mind's a crowded place, stuffed to the brim with regrets and wild pains and wilder ambitions and angers and betrayals and griefs. That and your quick temper, your quicker mind, that magical memory for alchemy that's damned you as much as it's saved you. And quite probably more.

So there's hardly time or space for things like this to grow, and yet it's here: a quiet not-quite-hope you're sure will never be fufilled. A tiny dream among your plans to shatter the very vaults of heaven.

Someday you want to be equals with him. Someday, somewhere, you want to have been his friend and not his enemy, and to one day be stopped short by a light kiss out of nowhere, out of everywhere, and follow it to-- you're not sure, you never think about it. To possibility... More likely, to salvation.

You never think about it. You never analyze it. It doesn't mean a thing.

But some nights when the furor of your life somehow calms down, it rises to your consciousness, a quiet wistful certainty as you stare somewhere into space.

Somewhere, you want to be his friend.

(-)

"Riiiight. So. Let's summaraize this. You dragged me from my home, lied to me, abused me, used me for your own purposes, never told me ANYTHING, insulted me every chance you got--"

"Not _every_ chance I got, I'd hardly have had time to do anything else, now, would--?"

"--and now you want me to believe that for the first time EVER you're NOT lying to me, you're NOT going to try and break my heart, a--..."

"...Again?"

"...Again."

"...You were all I had."

"ExCUSE--?!"

"You were all I could trust, all I could rely on, and I took you for granted and it's time for your revenge."

"...You're damn right it's time for my revenge."

"Then I guess I'll leave."

"Oh no. A rebuff is WAY too good for you. You know what I'm gonna do to you? I am gonna fall for it. I'm gonna be an idiot and believe you and give you everything you asked for."

"...Excuse me?"

"Think about it. There's no better punishment than that. You'll get me."

"...Check and mate, Fullmetal. I concede."

"After all these years, the first game I win. It won't be the last."

"Oh, we'll see about that..."

(-)

"--It's NOT what it looks like!!"

"Nii-san!! Don't insult me!!"

"It's NOT! He-- with his, you know, all those things, and the evil, especially the evil--"

"You're gonna try to tell me he was _seducing_ you?!"

"I was _trying_, until _somebody_--"

"YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!! YOUR fault! YOURS!!"

"You didn't seem all that unhappy until--"

"TAISA! You are NOT to use this office for personal matters! How many times do I have to--"

"How the hell many people have you been seducing in here, you scumsucking whore?!!"

"I think you just insulted yourself."

"YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!!"

"HAVE you been seducing people in here?! If you hurt my brother--!!!"

"BOYS! Let's take this OUTSIDE!!"

"There's nothing to--"

"OUTSIDE!!"

"...Women."

"YOU PEOPLE SHUT UP!!"

(-)

He's giving you that vulnerable "Shit, I _AM_ a kid" look that makes him look so damn attainable. And, thank God, way too damn young for you at the same time. Usually it's instantly followed by embarassment or anger, and usually both, because he's just generally an angry person.

But not today. Today he sobers to a strange measuring look you've never seen before that scares the hell out of you. For a brief second you feel you might be transparent-- and isn't that how he's felt on that nice couch of yours every day for all these years?

"I know what you're trying to do," he says, and even if he's right there are a million things he might mean. You are, after all, trying to do so many things, most probably contradictory.

"I know what you're trying to do. And I know what to do about it," he says, sounding almost surprised.

Entirely possible, and you're for some strange reason frightened, but also...

And he leans forward and kisses you, and he's way too damn young, but he's older than you've ever been, and you didn't plan for this.

"Predict my actions now, Madame Jocasta," he says; gives you a smirk that seems almost sincere and walks out the door.

And you're derailed and confused and possibly a little panicked, and you smirk at your idiotic self, condescendingly.

Because turnabout is the fairest play of all.

(-)

The second time you've been fool enough to do this.

The first time was when you were the golden boy, the new kid in town, the youngest State Alchemist yet, and there she was. You loved her and you lost her as soon as you fell out of vogue.

You thought you'd learned your lesson. But somewhere you tripped up, and fell, haphazardly, accidentally, you don't know why or how. And eventually he stopped hating you, which you'd never wanted him to do, and it never even _was_ anything yet, just a... potential. A possibility. A glint of happiness whenever he walked into your office. And yelled at you. Which you always kind of deserved.

You were trying to ignore it. Now he's gone and you can't anymore.

You've been in this place once before, and you know how this story will end...

(-)

I remember I used to hate him. Hate his manipulations, hate his arrogance, his _smirkiness_... Almost everything about him. And everyone told me, "Edward, you're crazy! Stop being so high-strung and relax, get a sense of humor."

And I never thought I would, but I did. Somewhere along those long, _long_ few years, I grew to tolerate him. To believe in him. And... damn, it's too embarrassing to even put into words... Dammit. I kinda sorta loved him, and then what happened?

There was nothing more important to him than gaining power. I knew that. Why the hell did I think the rules had changed?

These days in his wreckage, I keep going back, remembering the kid I used to be.

'Cause I swear to god, I was so much smarter when I was young...

(-)

"Right, so I have this problem. There's this evil person I hate to the bottom of my soul who I think I may have fallen in love with."

"You alchemists and your specific verb tenses."

"Hughes!"

"I assume I know this person, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you know I'm on his side."

"You're on mine too!"

"You don't know that..."

"I do so! After all those damn pic--"

"Are you asking me my blessing?"

"I'm asking you if you think I should kill him before I get any further gone!!"

"...Well. My loyalties are torn here. On your side, I'd have to say yes, you should probably kill him, because he's a whore and will drive you insane."

"Great! I was thinking I'd wait 'till he came out of his office and, swish..."

"But as _his_ friend... He needs someone to keep him in line. Hawkeye does her best, but she's not willing to use vio-- no, that's not it, uh--she's not willing to actively chastise him on nonpersonal matters. She's his subordinate. Every girl who's _not_ his subordinate disappears within a week. They can't know him well enough. Frankly, he needs someone he can't drive away, who will call him on his crap and is perfectly willing to kick his ass if needs be."

"...So you're saying for my sake, I should go ahead and kill him, and for his, I should give it a try?"

"Yes."

"...I'm right back where I STARTED from!!!!"

"Sorry."

"Damn it all to hell!! What do I do NOW?!!"

"Decide what's more important to you. Follow your heart, though it's a cliche."

"...Okay, I'll go try to figure out what the hell it is I really want now."

"Good luck. That's always hard."

"Does alcohol help?"

"No. Go to the library."

"Does _that_ help?"

"More than alcohol."

"Yeah, right..."

(-)

Maybe this isn't the way it's supposed to happen. Maybe this isn't the way it's supposed to be. Maybe this, like everything you've ever wanted, is forbidden, entirely taboo. After all, he's older than you. And a he. And a goddamn skirtchaser who you thought you hated. Maybe still do hate? You're not sure when you crossed that line.

But you have, like you've crossed every other line, and like everything else worthwhile, it's probably a sin. You'll probably be punished. Hell, hanging around him for long periods of time is punishment in itself.

But there he is, and he's finally shut up, and he's finally trusted you, and he actually looks happy. And something about the way his bangs have fallen against his closed eyes is ridiculously endearing.

You don't know when you got this way, but, idiotically, you're happy, too. You're happy here. You want this to go on forever, and maybe that's love.

If it's a sin, you'll rise up with a force out of hell and this time knock God off his seat, because He's just evil.

Maybe he'll ride by your side when you do.

(-)

I've never told anyone this, and it sounds really stupid and I don't know how I'll say it, but if anyone will believe me, it'll be you.

There's something I didn't tell anyone about Lab Five, about being contaminated by that lake of red water. It gave me power. I know you know that, but it made me feel like I could do _anything_. Like I could destroy the very world.

And I kinda liked the idea, Lt. Hawkeye. And I felt that power flowing through me, half-out of my control down-- no scientist should be saying crap like this, but secretly, alchemy's no science, no matter how we try to fool ourselves-- flowing down ancient channels, and I think I could've done it. I would've done it, but Maria Ross and her (usually really annoying) maternal ways made me remember the world hadn't always been bad to me. Made me remember my mother, and those good days, and I basically remembered why I shouldn't destroy the world, and so I didn't.

And I ignored it completely until it happened again, the other day, and this time I knew what was happening, and I was scared, yeah, but I still kind of wanted to do it, 'cause it's really been a bad few years for me, and I think we all might be better off. And Col. Mustang grabbed my hand and pulled me away and I snapped out of it.

See, he still thinks it was because he pulled me out of contact, like some damn electrical current where all you've got to do is break the circuit. But this was deeper than that, the power was deeper than that, and he did break the circuit, but that wasn't how. He took my hand, and somehow I thought _he_ was worth saving. I don't know what the hell was wrong with me. Somehow _he_ was reminding me that there are good things in this world, in life. How the hell ironic is that?

So, long story short, that's why I'm running away. As far away as I can.

Please make him stay home.

(-)

"What in the name of--... What are you DOING?!"

"I'm singing up at you from the street, Fullmetal."

"Really, that so. What I _mean _is WHY??!"

"Because that's what idiots do."

"Can't argue that one."

"They stand on the street and say stupid things and sing very badly. Surely you've read of it."

"Yeah, but--"

"It has several advantages. It expresses contriteness and sincerity, elicits sympathy, and pisses off the neighbors so badly that it forces the victim to either let you inside or watch as the cops haul you away."

"I'm leaning toward the cops."

"That's the risk fools take. Edward, I'm sorry."

"...How the hell did you get here?"

"Took the last train."

"And how did you find me?"

"You think you're inconspicuous?"

"You think this is the time to be catty? They're gonna find you here, you know. You'll be arrested for disturbing the peace and seducing a minor and whatever the hell else they can come up with, and where'll your damn career be then?"

"The same place it'll be if you don't take me back."

"...You frickin' moron. Get the hell up here, before the other guests all come up here and stab me!!"

"You'll forgive me?"

"We'll talk. Don't press your damn luck!!"

"Never again..."

(-)

You'll blame it on the moonlight and his gentle, quiet smile. The way he'll be self-deprecating and for once you'll see the smallest flicker of his pain. For one moment his blinding arrogance won't be in the way, and the moonlight will be on his face, and he'll be beautiful.

You'll blame it on your weakness, your weariness, the days of running since this god-forsaken mission trip began. Days now of running, and fighting, and worrying over those absent, and occasionally those here. For one moment you'll forget the thousand things that take priority over thinking about him, and you'll start to move.

You'll kiss him without thinking about it, because there's no other way you could do it, and then you'll come to your senses and still not pull away. It'll seem unreal, impossible, and maybe it will be.

And after that it'll be up to you.

(-)


End file.
